


i can move mountains; i can work a miracle (work a miracle)

by solitariusvirtus, tenten_d



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, F/M, Fencing, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Phobias, Pointless, Romantic Friendship, Short & Sweet, Short Chapters, Therapy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, genophobia, thin plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4296441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenten_d/pseuds/tenten_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fencing champion extraordinaire Lyanna Stark has a problem. A really big problem. And she keeps trying to solve it, but ends up hitting walls. </p><p>She needs help. And fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, this will read like a romantic comedy more or less. :)
> 
> I don't really know if it'll be good for much of anything. But enjoy anyway.
> 
> Title - "Uma Thurman" by F.O.B

Lyanna rearranges the strap of her bag as she steps out of the elevator, a small smile on her face. She can’t wait to tell Robert that she made it. In fact, she’s so high with the joy of it that she thinks she won’t mind too much if they end up making out on the couch in a gauche display that no one will ever see to her ever-lasting relief.

The keys clink as they smash together in her careless hold. Lyanna picks them one by one, more out of habit than anything else, choosing the right one. She inserts the key into the lock and turns it gently. The door unlocks, permitting her entrance. Lyanna opens it and steps inside.

And then it happens.

A moan rings out in her apartment. A woman’s moan. In her apartment. Where her boyfriend was supposed to be waiting for her. Her first thought it to excuse it. Robert may just be watching porn. People do that sometimes.

But something’s not right. It’s a feeling really and the fact that there is a slightly less perceptible scent in the air, but now that she’s felt it, Lyanna cannot put it out of her mind or escape its presence. It’s perfume. Sweet, almost cloying.

In her mind she’s praying that she’s wrong in her assumptions right now. Because, despite the fact that she doesn’t love Robert, they’ve been together for six months and that’s some time for her. A lot of time. Carefully, she steps over the hardwood floor towards her bedroom. She’s still praying even as she opens the door and hears a grunt that sounds suspiciously like Robert.

And there it is. Her boyfriend of six months having sex with some unknown, nameless woman. She is shocked, despite herself.

“Fucking hell,” Robert managed to get out at the sight of her in the doorway when he turns his head slight towards her. “Lyanna. You’re back.”

But she can only close her eyes and whirl around. Lyanna thinks she’s going to be sick. Counting in her head backwards she tries to work through the hurt and anger towards something resembling coherency. Behind her clothes rustle. She doesn’t want to turn around and look. She truly doesn’t.

But in the end turn around and look she does. The woman gives her an apologetic, embarrassed smile, as if she herself didn’t know of the girlfriend’s existence. But since she’s not freaking out and trying to rip Robert’s head off, Lyanna assumes that she did in fact know.

“Good, now that you’re dressed, maybe I can hear an explanation,” she says a lot calmer than she feels.

Roberts runs his fingers through his hair and utters a curse. “Seven hells. Look, don’t start crying,” he tells her, pulling his shirt on. Fine. She won’t. “This is as much your fault as it is mine.”

“What the hell?” she bristles. “What do you mean this is my fault, you arse? Am I the one rolling around with someone else here?”

“I warned you though,” he returns just as harshly. The woman excuses herself, stepping past Lyanna out into the hallway and then slipping out the door which closes with a soft thud. ”Are you dumb or deaf? We’ve been together six fucking months and all I got out of you is nothing, you frigid cunt.”

That’s it. “I told you I wasn’t ready, you arse. Get the hell out,” she yells through the burning feeling in her throat. “Out! Out, get the fuck out of my house right this instant.”

“With pleasure.” He spites her by grabbing one of those ugly porcelain figurines his mother sent over.

“Don’t bother. I’ll put everything of yours together and you can pick it up later,” she says, grabbing at his shoulder.

Robert shrugs off her hold and steps into the hallway. “Fuck you, Stark. Oh, wait, I forgot. I can’t. You’re so tight down there I couldn’t even fit a finger. Cold bitch.”

But he’s leaving and Lyanna will take consolation where she can get it. Somehow, she follows him out. The woman has left.

To her utmost embarrassment, one of their neighbours has just opened his door, no doubt on his way to someplace much nicer, and has probably heard them quarrelling. Lyanna blushes to the tips of her ears and feels tears stinging her eyes. The sensation of tiny needles piercing her it inescapable.

Thankfully, he has more tact than to stare. He simply walks past them and to the elevator, pressing the button. Given the third party, Robert just glowers at her. “I’ll be back for my stuff. Don’t you fucking dare throw it away.”

It would serve him right if she did. Lyanna huffs, turns around and slams the door in his face, turning the key in the lock just to be sure he won’t get in.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _Stark and Baratheon a done deal._ That’s what the headline of the latest gossip column says. Lyanna feels the compulsive urge to crumble the paper and sent it straight to the bin. But she can’t help but allow her eyes to investigate.

Gods, at least he didn’t go tattling. Lyanna puts the paper away and stands to her feet. She doesn’t feel like doing anything. So, she walks to the fridge, pulls out a carton of ice cream and makes her way back to the couch. One hand searches for the remote and she changes to some movie. An old thing really, that will make her feel even worse about her life than she currently does.

But Lyanna watches it anyway, because a broken heart – or rather a bruised ego – must have some perks.

Her phone rings sometime during the evening, but she cannot be bothered to stand up and answer. So Lyanna lets it rings and keep on watching her movie.

By this time, she has tissues in her hand and damp eyes. The protagonists are going through one heavy breakup and she cannot help but think of her own. It’s pathetic, but it’s her own fault, to be sure. She wonders when Robert will come for his stuff. “Please, gods, let it be soon.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cersei snorts and pushes hard against Lyanna’s shoulder. “Do you want us to bury you in that or something, Miss Havisham?” She waits a few moments, but then her nails are digging into the skin of Lyanna’s shoulder. “Get up. So he called you a frigid cunt. So what?”

“He was my boyfriend,” Lyanna snaps.

“Well, it’s not exactly like you’ve been trusting and all that. You could have just told him about your problem.” The blonde sits down on the edge of the bed. “Don’t be daft, Stark. Men like sex. You weren’t giving him any.”

”I tried.” Gods, she did. Lyanna sniffles lightly. But her problem just won’t go away. “Last time he had his hands up my shirt, I nearly wretched all over him.”

“Did you do that counting stuff in your head properly?” Cersei hands her the bottle of water she’s been holding. Lyanna nods. “I don’t know then. I think you need help. Professional help.”

Of course she does. Lyanna is just too much of a coward to admit it. And how would she even explain this to anyone. She can just see it, her opening her mouth to tell this faceless stranger that although she is curious, she wants to, she tries very head, she just can’t have sex. No matter what she does. When the situation grows even just a bit sexual, she’ll balk. And it’s so _fucking_ frustrating.

“Look, give it a rest for now. Go shower, get dressed and come with me,” Cersei cajoles. “I’ll take you someplace nice.” The promise has a reluctant Lyanna getting out of bed and shimmying out of her clothes. Cersei wrinkles her nose at her, a sort of fond exasperation on her face. “Go on.”

So she does. She heads to the bathroom and spends entirely too much time washing her hair out and scrubbing herself clean. When she comes out, she sees that Cersei has been pulling all of her clothes out of the closet. “Stark, you have no sense of fashion.” She throws Lyanna a pair of jeans and a shirt. “You’re lucky there’s no dress code where we’re going.”

Lyanna shrugs and pulls on the clothes. At least Cersei won’t let her wallow. She dries her hair and Cersei combs it because otherwise it would take a million years.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jaime gives her a dry look. “Another one flew the coop, eh, Stark?” He hands her one of the foils. Cersei sits down on one of the benches. “Sis told me you’ve been locked up in that hole of an apartment of yours for a few days and skipped practice.”

“You sister tells you entirely too much,” Lyanna assures him. She rolls her wrist in a relaxing motion.

“As long as I have someone to practice against,” he shrugs. Jaime pulls his protective mask on and Lyanna follows his example.

They work through a few simple motions together. And then the true thing starts. Lyanna pushes into an attack, barely giving Jaime time to react. He’s bigger and stronger than her, but Lyanna is faster. It’s not exactly an evenly matched arrangement, but she does need the catch up on her practice.

She strikes him across the chest and his foil touches her hip. They draw apart. Cersei looks up from her phone. “Don’t lose to him, Lya. His ego is bad enough as it is.”

The two resume their practice.

This feels so good.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Robert sits across from her, coffee before him. His face is a mixture of mortification and contrition. Lyanna is sure her face is a mirror of that. “I was angry. That’s my only excuse,” he ends. “This turned out worse than I had envisioned.”

“It’s fine,” Lyanna hears herself saying. It’s not fine. “I’ve my share of blame as well.” He gives a sharp, sharp nod. “But we’re both adults. I’m glad we can part on amiable terms. You should come by and get your things.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that.” He pulls out his phone and looks at his schedule. “Are you free next Monday?” Monday, evil day.

“I have practice in the afternoon, but I’ll all free otherwise.” Her hand is itching. Lyanna looks down at her lap.

Then Robert is speaking again. “Then, I’ll drop by on Monday.” This is very, very awkward. Being an adult is harder than Lyanna had imagined. But Robert is friends with her brother and Lyanna isn’t the sort to ruin such a friendship just because things didn’t work out between them. “By the by, I heard you made it to the finals.”

Lyanna nods her head. “Mhmm. I’ll be going to Pentos next month.” She smiles at him. “And I have heard your team is playing against those bastards from the Rock.” Robert smiles too at that. “Good luck there, captain. You’ll probably need it.”

“Against the Rock?” The smile turns into a grin. “You just keep your eyes on me, Lya. I’ll show you.”

“If you say so.” They are not likely to keep in touch. “I’ll be sure to watch.” It’s time to act the Cinderella and flee before the clock strikes midday. Lyanna looks at her phone screen. “Well, I still have some things to do, Rob. I’ll be off then.”

“Do you want me to take this for you?” he gestures at her soda. Lyanna shakes her head and pulls out the bills from her wallet. “Some things never change, I see,” Robert laughs.

“I suppose. See you around, Baratheon.” She climbs to her feet, draping her jacket over one arm.

“By the way, Stark. Go see someone for that problem of yours. It’s not normal.” He doesn’t say it loudly. And no one is looking, but she still feels like shushing him. One last quip then.

“Duly noted.” And with that she leaves him there to whatever he is going to do next.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Her mother gives a disappointed look. “Oh, honey. I just don’t understand. Robert was so nice.” Well, Lyanna hasn’t really got to telling her about the cheating. Maybe it’s better no one knows given the circumstances.

“We weren’t happy together, mom,” Lyanna says, taking a sip of her orange juice. “There’s no use in beating a dead horse.”

“My stubborn daughter,” Lyarra replies, fondly touching the tip of her finger to Lyanna’s cheek. “Perhaps it was just not meant to be. Here, try this.” The spoon appears before her lips as if summoned by magic. Lyanna opens her mouth reluctantly.

It’s not any worse than she was expecting. But she still swallows with difficulty. “Did you put Dornish reds in this?” Lyanna nearly chokes.

Lyarra nods her head. “I though it might spice things up.”

“Too much spice,” Lyanna manages to give the verdict between gulping down juice and coughing. Her mother is a true danger in the kitchen. “Why not have Brandon do the tasting?” He might actually like it.

Ned enters the kitchen, Ashara Dayne in tow. The two of them are so in love it’s actually a bit sickening. “Lyanna,” her brother’s girlfriend greets, sitting down next to her. “I thought you wouldn’t be visiting, what with the competition and all.”

“I decided to stop by a couple of days before I’m shipped off to Pentos,” Lyanna laughs. “Besides, I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Aww, I missed you too.” Ashara pats her arm, gently. “Why don’t you just move back here? King’s Landing is too far away and I rarely get to see you.”

“I don’t want to crowd mom.” Lyanna gives Ashara and Ned a knowing look. “I’ve heard she’ll have her hands full anyway.”

“Benjen told you, didn’t he? That little jerk. I told him not to tell.” Ned accepts mother’s offering with the same dubious look as Lyanna. He has a better time of masking his reaction though.

“So, when exactly will the happy event occur?” She asks, handing Ned her juice glass. Her brother downs what is left of it and gives the glass back to her.

“Midwinter.” A bright smile paints Ashara’s lips and her hand rubs the slight protrusion. It’s oddly fitting. “A Stark through and through.” They all laugh at that. Ned bends down to press a kiss to Ashara’s cheek. “I don’t think I’ll be able to hold onto my Dayne name much longer.”

“You ought to make an honest man out of him, my girl,” Lyarra pipes in.

“You really should,” Lyanna seconds. “Have you guys given any thought to the baby’s name yet?”

“Why? Do you have suggestions?” Ned teases.

“Of course I do,” Lyanna plays his game. “If it’s a girl, you can name her after the coolest woman alive. And a champion to boot.”

“You haven’t won yet,” her brother reminds her.

“Yes, but I see you are not denying my coolness.” Which is a point in her favour, after all. Lyanna beams at him.

“Can’t argue with the deranged, sis. It’s bad form,” he returns.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cersei plops down on the chair next to hers. “I can’t understand why you wouldn’t let me get us first-class tickets.” Her eyes roam the expanse available. “This is atrocious.” Jaime gazes up from his book with a sharp look as if to say _do you mind, I’m reading here._ “What do you have against the finer things in life, Lya?”

“Nothing really.” She holds her soda to Cersei who takes it without a word and gulps down what Lyanna supposes is half of it. “It’s just that I don’t want you paying for me, Lannister. I might actually have to thank you.”

“Oh, so because of your pride, I have to be as plebeian as this?” Cersei snorts. Which in itself is pretty plebeian. Lyanna decides against pointing that out. “Shove off.”

“You certainly didn’t have to come with us,” Lyanna can’t help but say.

“As if I’d miss this.” Cersei has entirely too much time on her hands. And Lyanna thinks that _yes, someone has to cheer for Jaime, because she will definitely be on Dayne’s side this time._ “I really think my baby brother has a shot at winning.”

“Right. Just let me mull over that for a moment.” There is no way Jaime is winning against Arthur Dayne. Cersei glowers at her. “It’s good exercise. But Dayne is just better.”

“Your faith in me warms my heart, Stark,” Jaime mutters. But he is conveniently ignored.

“We all have our off days,” Cersei reminds her. “I’ll just have to pray extra hard that the one when he fights against Jaime be one such day.” 

“This is surprisingly petty of you, Cersei.” Lyanna grins. “I like it. Let’s see then whom the gods favour.”

Cersei takes Lyanna’s soda again. “Let’s see then.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

There are only so many moments in which Lyanna feels like the earth should open up and swallow her. Among them she can count that one time Jaime kissed her and she ended up barfing the little food she’d eaten on their date all over his shirt. It’s baffling that they are still friends. Another involves a woman in a smoky bar and the discovery that it’s not boys that make her sick, but sexual stuff in general. The third is her breakup scene with Robert.

Out of all these moments, the only one which has an actual witness is the last. And that witness stands in front of her. She doesn’t know if it’s worse or better that he doesn’t seem to recognise her.

Cersei is too busy instructing Jaime about how to haul the many things they have packed to pay much attention to Lyanna’s distress.

Her neighbour passes by them. Lyanna turns her head just slightly and sees him boarding a cab. Relief floods her. “Come on, you two. I would rather we reached that hotel before the bloody end of the year.”

“This is why you need to get your problem fixed, Stark,” Jaime snarks. “You would be so much easier to get along with after a good tumble between the sheets.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, should I go on or drop it?


	2. Chapter 2

She cannot sleep. Lyanna tosses around for a few minutes more in an attempt to trick her body into rest. Except, it seems she won’t be getting any. So, after a long moment of consideration, her legs swing over the edge of the bed as she sits up.

“It’s this blasted heat,” she mutters. Not even the a/c is helping. With a grunt of dissatisfaction, she decides that sitting in her room and watching TV for the next few hours does not sound very palatable. Instead, she pulls on a sleeves shirt and a pair of leggings and heads for the rooftop.

Lyanna is not exactly surprised to see Jaime there. Because, having known him forever by now, she is aware that sleep never comes easy to him. He looks over his shoulder at her. “Stark, I know I am simply magnetic, but even you should have limits.”

“Lannister, you aren’t even trying.” She comes closer to him and wrinkles her nose at the smell of smoke. “Those could give you cancer.”

“Beautiful corpses and all that,” he shrugs, lighting another cigarette. He holds one out to her, but Lyanna just shakes her head. “Nearly went to sis’ room.” There is a sort of defeat look about him that she cannot help but pity. “I’m starting to believe your problem is actually agreeable. Gods.”

“But you’re here, aren’t you?” They don’t really do that thing where one of them cries and the other offers comfort. Maybe with Cersei it would work. But Jaime is another sort altogether. So Lyanna plants her elbow in his side with none of the grace her mother taught her. “And don’t make fun of my problem, Lannister.”

“Or what? You’ll puke on me again?” This she can deal with. He blows smoke in her face and doesn’t even try to shield himself from the punch which meets his shoulder. “You know, you are entirely too violent.”

“No doubt you’re right.” They look at one another for a long moment.

Jaime throws the stub of his cigarette away and lights another one. “Maturity? From you Stark? You must stop, or I might actually gain some measure of respect for you. Can you imagine?”

“Respect? From you? Oh, Lannister. I doubt there’s a dictionary plain enough to explain this word to you.” They burst into peals of laughter. Lyanna’s smile drops after a moment. “But it’s better now, isn’t it?”

“Much. We’re almost normal.” It’s not something he likes to talk about. And it’s not something Lyanna pesters him about. “I think she’s going to take on father on his offer to study in Highgarden.”

“You think he suspects something?” Tywin Lannister is not an easy man to hide things from. He’s not an easy man. Period.

“Nah. Old man’s too busy staring at mom’s photo.” He runs his fingers through his hair in that gesture which Lyanna automatically knows means that he is pissed. She sighs and pats his shoulder gently.

“Better that she does. Highgarden is lovely. Isn’t that junior, Tyrell something, from there?” She wills him to let it go. Because some things can never be.

“Willas, yes.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“What the hell is wrong with the two of you?” Cersei asks over breakfast, eyeing them both with that sort of look that’s just asking _do I need to slap a bitch?_ Because this is Cersei and they both know how she reacts to problems, a shake of the head is answer enough. “I’m not dumb.”

Silence falls between them for all of one minute before Cersei’s eyes narrow. “Please don’t tell me you actually tried to help Stark, Jaime.”

Lyanna bursts into laughter, a bit exaggerated because of circumstances. She wiped away invisible tears. “As if I would ever allow him anywhere near me.”

“Well, you let me kiss you,” Jaime points out, buttering his bread with a look between annoyance and amusement. “Who’s to say you’re not just dying to try it again.”

“My stomach.” Lyanna takes a bite of her muffin, chews and swallows. “You’re revolting, Lannister, and I almost wish you’d been born a girl so I could kick your arse in the competition.”

“So you have been thinking about my arse. Good to know, Stark.”

Cersei pulls out her phone and snaps a picture. She does that sometimes. Usually at inappropriate times. This makes Lyanna wonder if she ended up smearing chocolate on her face or something. “Do I even want to know?”

“Not really,” the female twin shrugs. “You just looked so cute. I mean, in ten years or something, when we’ll have like a gazillion kids between us and our boobs will hang down to our knees, we can look at this and cry our eyes out about all the faded beauty.”

“How comforting,” Lyanna coos softly, a devilish gleam in her eyes. She looks at Jaime. “I suppose it’ll be something else hanging for you.”

Jaime, who had been in the process of chewing, nearly spits out his food. Thankfully, he manages to hold it in and choke on it. “For fuck’s sake. Bon appétit to you too.” Incorrigible fiends that they are, Lyanna and Cersei merely chuckle at his distress. As payment, Jaime says, “I promise you, Stark, that ten years won’t do me any damage. I’ll even let you test it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Foibles and mistakes aside, it’s quickly decided that their day is to be spent sightseeing. Cersei says something about some statues she wants to take pictures of and Lyanna can think of nothing better to do.

So they end up walking along narrow streets and making faces at all sorts of curiosities. There is also food. Because fools if love, and food is life and Jaime is paying. Cersei takes silly pictures left and right, but this time she’s using her fancy camera. “Go stand over there, you two,” she instructs.

Lyanna is still eating some sort of strange thin sausage on a stick and Jaime gives her this look that’s sort of very _Jaime-like._ She sticks her tongue out at him. “Sod off,” she mutters when he smiles.

“Such language,” he says right back. Then he turns to Cersei. “Done?”

And they’re off again.

She could spend a lifetime exploring, Lyanna think. But she’ll have to make do with this evening, because tomorrow it’s back to training. Her eyes catch a form slumping against a wall with a guitar in hand. She stops and listens when she sees him start playing.

There is something unmistakably sad about the man. He isn’t young. He isn’t old either. At a guess, Lyanna would cast him to be in his forties. “Hey, hey, stop,” she calls after Jaime and Cersei. “Let’s listen to him.”

“Stark and music,” Cersei says, but puts her arm though Lyanna’s and leans into her.

“Stop it,” Lyanna chides.

But they listen to him and it’s truly beautiful. Haunting even. Cersei snaps her pictures and Lyanna gives the money. Jaime shakes his head at the both of them and calls then two bleeding hearts. Which is not untrue. It’s just annoying coming from him.

“I’m not the one who keeps a three-legged cat,” Cersei snaps at him after.

“Oi, easy you two. Let’s not make a scene.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they’re back at the hotel, Lyanna feels like she had been walking on shard of glass. But they had fun. Which is nice.

“Isn’t that Dayne?” Cersei asks, looking over Lyanna’s shoulder. “And who’s the guy with him?”

“Not competition, that I can tell you,” Jaime supplies.

Normally, Lyanna wouldn’t really mind, or even look. But considering she knows that Ashara would have called her brother by now, she thinks it would be rude to ignore his presence. So she tells herself that she’ll take a look and if he sees her, she’ll do the right thing.

Except that when she does look, the guy Cersei mentioned in that neighbour. The one who will probably feature in her nightmares from now on.

“They look close.” Cersei says in _that_ way. As in, _look, another good looking guy we’re not getting, Lya._

Jaime snorts. “No, trust me, they aren’t.”

Oh dear gods, Dayne is looking their way. Lyanna can feel heat rising in her cheeks. She got lucky once. What are the chances that she’ll have a second bout of good fortune? Great, the neighbour’s looking too. _Well, fuck._

“Stark,” someone snaps their fingers near her ear making Lyanna jump. She turns to glare at Jaime. “Didn’t you say that his sister is dating your brother?”

“They’ll be married soon,” she replies automatically.

“Didn’t you say she said something about a girl he’s dating?” Their argument, Lyanna suddenly remembers.

“Oh, that. Well, she said she saw some female products in his bathroom.” She shrugs. “Take it however you like.”

“There is only one way to find out. Heads up, Lya. He’s coming your way.” When she makes to look back, Cersei’s leg bumps into hers. “If you look back, I’ll murder you.”

Sure enough, Dayne is there in a matter of moments. “Lyanna Stark,” he says, to her, just a hint of a question in there.

Turning towards him, Lyanna makes an effort to smile – and not like she’s plotting to dump someone’s body in the Rhoyne. “Yup That’s me. Ashara sent pictures, I presume.”

“Doesn’t she always?” he smiles down at her. The fact that Ned and Ashara have been together for some time hasn’t entailed meeting the famous Arthur Dayne. Lyanna’s heart just does this weird little flip at the fact that he knows her name. _Arthur freaking Dayne knows her name._ This is almost better that ice cream. “I think I should apologise for missing that one dinner I was invited to.”

“That’s fine.” Why does she sound breathless? Cersei kicks her again superstitiously. _Get your act together._ “I mean, Ashara kind of said you probably wouldn’t make it.”

“All the same.” He seems nice. His eyes wonder to Jaime and Cersei.

“Oh,” Lyanna finally remembers, “these are Cersei and Jaime Lannister.”

“Ah, the newcomer,” Dayne holds his hand out. Jaime looks like he’s just won the lottery. “Good luck, Lannister.”

“The same to you,” Jaime answers. Lyanna half-wonders if this is going to turn into a pissing contest.

Thankfully, it seems not the case. Dayne turns back to her. “Look, I really need some ammo against my sister for when I’ll go visit. So how about I’ll buy you and yours dinner.”

Her brain is already chanting _food, food, food._ And she almost accepts. But then she remembers the neighbour and she’s about to refuse, until Cersei speaks for them all. “Of course, we never refuse food.”

“Cersei,” Lyanna hisses.

“What?” She takes Jaime by the arm and hauls him up. “Let’s go.”

Now she’ll have to face him. Lyanna has this one moment in which she thinks the whole world is falling apart around her. Except, it isn’t. Cersei takes her arm as well and she’s basically dragging all three of them along. At Lyanna’s look, she gives a light snort. “Come on, Stark. Two good-looking men and dinner. It’s not like I sold you into slavery.”

Arthur’s companion and Lyanna’s nightmare watches them approach as calmly as a block of ice. It drives Lyanna insane. There is no spark of recognition on his face. Gods, her heart is doing another weird motion in her chest. And it’s not making her feel good.

“Oi, Targaryen, don’t look so sour. I brought company.” He turns to Lyanna. “Since you’ve introduced me to your friends, I’ll introduce you to one of mine. This is Rhaegar Targaryen.” The name sound familiar. “Targaryen, this is Lyanna Stark. Eddard’s sister. Better get along, you two, you’ll have to go through my sister’s wedding together as it is.”

Damn. So he’s that good of a friend. “Nice to meet you,” Lyanna says, unsure if she ought to hold a hand out. But he does it first and they do this strange shake-hold thing.

“And those two–“ Dayne stars, but gets cut off.

“Them I already know,” Rhaegar says. “Jaime and Cersei.” The twins look shocked and Lyanna thinks she may be starting to like the guy.

“Do I have a stalker?” is the thing that slips out Cersei’s mouth to Lyanna’s utter humiliation. She gives her friend a pained look.

The neighbour-stranger-guy-she-thinks-she-might-like chuckles. “Hardly. But I don’t expect you’d remember me. I think you were two or three last I saw you.”

“Wait. You’re that guy,” Jaime says, rudely pointing a finger. “I know you. You’re that friend’s of my mother’s son, aren’t you?”

“Small world.” If a man can withstand the twins without flinching, then he is deserving of respect. Drat. Lyanna looks between them all with confusion. She hates not knowing stuff.

 

 

* * *

 

 

If Lyanna had known this is what awaited her, she might’ve pretended a terminal illness to get out of the competition. It’s not even that she’s afraid of the guy anymore. She’s terrified. This is not alright and she demands to know what sort of sorcery he is practicing. There is no way in hell she can be afraid to death of a guy at first and then in two hours be totally entranced. Not even the good looks cut it as an explanation.

“Cersei,” she whispers, “come on.” Cersei gives her a bewildered look. She’s having the time of her life. Lyanna pulls on her arm.

“Okay, okay. Keep your jeans on.” Out of them all, Jaime is the one who actually understand the meaning.

“I wouldn’t worry on that account,” he mutters in his drink, for which he receives a glare from his sister.

Once they are safely ensconced in that sacred place that men never dare trespass into without a very good reason, Lyanna cannot help but ask. “What do you know about that guy?”

“Who? Rhaegar?” Cersei taps her chin. “Not much.” The disbelieving look in Lyanna’s eyes makes her laugh. “You heard him. It’s been some time. All I know is that our parents were good friends for awhile and that he does something or another in music.”

“Music?” That is unexpected. He doesn’t look it. “No way.”

“Yes way. Is that why you dragged me all the way here? You could have just asked him, you know?” No, she couldn’t have. Lyanna really wants to hit Cersei. “Look, Rhaegar is an okay guy. So don’t sweat it. Just act natural.”

She might have as well told Lyanna to find the end of the rainbow. “Fine,” Lyanna says nonetheless.

Unfortunately, Lyanna doesn’t even begin to comprehend how she can act naturally. The only mercy here is that Cersei is seated between the two of them. Damn and blast, but this is too much. Their return is met with little interest by the males who seem to have in the meantime been absorbed in something on the TV screens.

“Oh look, the team from Storm’s End scored.” This night can’t get any worse, Lyanna decides.

Cersei, by the power of female friendship possibly, knows to pat Lyanna’s thigh gently. “Hey look, that guy totally tripped Captain Baratheon. I think I’ve found my new hero.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cersei is devious. Cersei is also going to die when Lyanna gets her hands on her. In the meantime, she must concentrate on surviving herself. She casts a short glance towards Rhaegar. To her utmost surprise, he is looking at her. Lyanna blinks.

“Mind telling me what’s going on?” The direct manner of the question seems almost brutal to Lyanna. At the confusion which is sure to be suffusing her features, Rhaegar raises one eyebrow. It’s a gesture that is decidedly aristocratic in its execution. Posh people, Lyanna thinks, knowing she’s seen this before. On Cersei. “Why are they trying so hard to push us together?”

The clarification does not help matters. “Don’t look at me like that.” Her snappishness is met with something like amusement. “I didn’t ask for this.”

Clearly he does not believe her. “I think it’s best to be honest about this sort of things.” Why does that feel like he’s calling her a liar? Lyanna’s eyes narrow. “In light of your recent breakup–“ That’s it.

“Dear gods, so you do remember?” This is mortifying. And she was actually starting to like him.

“It’s a pretty difficult scene to forget.” But he shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’ll overlook it, this time. But if you want something from me, just be straightforward about it.” In that moment, Lyanna decides that, one, she will murder Cersei and throw her body in the Rhoyne, and two, she will avoid this man like the plague.

But it seems that Rhaegar Targaryen has other plans, because his hand in on her cheek all of a sudden and her stomach roils in protest. This is not good. On instinct, her own hand creeps to her mouth, covering it and her body makes to move back. But he’s not doing anything, except standing there. Too close. Again, her blasted stomach rolls.

His hand moves away to touch her forehead. It’s surprising and disconcerting to hear him ask, “Are you alright? It doesn’t seem like you have a fever and yet,” he trails off.

“Please, please, just back off,” she manages to get out.

And he surprises her by giving her a look filled with understanding and retreating, slowly. Usually people just jump back like she’s a time bomb waiting to explode. If she has more scenes like this to face, Lyanna is sure it won’t be good for her. Can’t he just elicit one feeling? Can’t he be simple, like Jaime, or Dayne, or the vendor across the street looking at them with curious eyes?

It takes a few moments to settle. He waits patiently, not really looking away from her. This is strange. She has to say something. “About that time,” she begins, but he gives a short shake of his head.

“I don’t put much stock into the words of angry lovers.” He must be a mind reader. “This is growing more and more interesting by the minute, Lyanna Stark.” There is something about the way he said her name just now. “Feeling well?”

She nods her head slowly. After that, he doesn’t try to help her. They’re just walking side by side, catching up to the three people who will soon be in need of funerals. “How did you know?”

“Experience.” This. Lyanna just thinks that this is perfect. The way it all clicked. “But I think there’s a story behind it.”

“I’m not telling you,” she laughs.

“It doesn’t have to be me. But someone should hear it. Usually, it helps.” And with those sage words, his strides grow ground-eating and she has to almost jog to keep up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no shame, really.


	3. Chapter 3

Cersei chews her gum annoyingly slow and loud as she watches Lyanna put on her gear, pulling up the tight length socks. “White is really not your colour,” she says, although they both know that Lyanna looks alright in white. “But at least it’s not horrible enough to make anyone look away.”

“You are such a child,” Lyanna sighs, knowing well enough that Cersei is teasing. “I’ve told you time and again, I don’t care who, if anyone, is looking. I’m here to fence, not flirt.”

Her friend shrugs. “That’s what you say now, Lya. But don’t think I’ve missed the way you were looking at, well, let us say, a special someone recently.” Well, it certainly is true that that she cannot seem to escape him. But Lyanna had been hoping Cersei would think it annoyance that painted her features and not curiosity. Not that Lyanna worries over this kind of stuff. “Don’t pull that face. I was only kidding.”

“You always are,” Lyanna grouses, pulling on the plastron and tying it to the side. She moves her arm around to test the flexibility, then loosens the strap a bit and repeats the process. Once she is satisfied, Lyanna holds her hand out to Cersei for the breeches. Which the blonde throws her way with a smirk. The shoes come next.

“I mean it though. There is something there.” She points to her friend and Lyanna wants to roll her eyes. “Yeah, you think I’m joking. But consider it carefully.” And she does but this particular line of thinking will not help her win. In the end she can only shrug.

“You do enjoy talking teasing me, don’t you?” Lyanna quips, fastening her breeches tight, rearranging the hem afterwards. “Give me the jacket.” She finds her way in that one too and looks around for her glove. When she finds it, Lyanna knocks gently against the gauntlet, in a manner that suggests a test even.

“Let’s talk about something else then. Who are you up against?” Cersei stands to her feet and takes Lyanna’s mask in her arms. “Someone from the Reach, wasn’t it?”

“Arabella Redding. She’s good enough, a little weak when it comes to attacks on the left side.” Which means, of course, that Lyanna will only use that to her advantage of necessary. “I fought against her before.”

“And won, I suspect. Well, don’t let her ruin your win count.” Pushing the mask towards Lyanna, Cersei goes on to pick up the foil and swath at the empty air with it. Lyanna thinks that perhaps Cersei should take up fencing too. But then the vision of Cersei with an actual weapon in her hand that she does know how to use cures Lyanna of the notion quick enough. Her friend is dangerous enough as it is.

“Give me that before you injure yourself,” Lyanna says, taking the foil from Cersei. The blonde pulls a face but complies in the end. “It’s for your own good. I promise.” And that of the entire population of Pentos.

With one last wish of good fortune, Cersei leaves her for the stands. Lyanna rolls her shoulders gently and takes a deep breath. It will all be fine. She has fought against Arabella before and won. She’ll win this one too. With that in mind, Lyanna puts her mask on and steps into the hallway.

The referee is already there. She sees Arabella door opening and the young woman stepping out. They nod towards one another in a semi-friendly gesture. Once they are closer to one another they even shake hands.

“Stark, you seem to be in good form,” Redding says, resting her foil against one shoulder rather carelessly. “But I warn you, I’ve been working hard to catch up.”

“Then this should be an interesting match.” Lyanna pats the girl’s unoccupied shoulder. “Let’s see which one of us has the gods’ favour today.”

From this point on it’s more instinct that conscious effort. Lyanna is trying to save that for later, for more dangerous opponents. They step on opposite sides of the dais and Lyanna can feel the eyes of the spectators. She pushes that particular feeling away. It’s time to win.

“On guard,” the command comes. Lyanna raises the sword a tad and widens her stance, turning her body slightly. “Ready.” She stares at her opponent, counting backwards in her head to keep her excitement at bay. “Go!”

Arabella lunges into a simple thrust which Lyanna parries before it can touch her. The thin foils engage and draw apart. Seeing her chance, Lyanna brings her foil in a wide arch, barely able to hold back her smile when Arabella raises her own to block her. The unguarded torso of her opponent is easy prey. With a whip-like movement Lyanna changes direction and thrusts downwards. Unfortunately Redding manages to dodge.

It makes no matter. The game has just begun and she has no intention of losing. She engages Arabella with a weak thrust and takes a step back. Arabella follows, her body reacting automatically before her mind can catch up. The only natural thing for her to do is to slip into another attack, which Lyanna manages to block just before it touches her chest area. And she might have continued with a strike were it not for the other’s foot slipping. Arabella’s hand grabs at Lyanna’s shoulder to keep from falling.

This point is hers, though Lyanna is not exceedingly pleased with it. She helps Arabella up and then goes to her place. They dance to much the same tune with slight variations until Lyanna had accumulated about nine points and Arabella six. She hasn’t been lying, of course. And Lyanna is all the sorrier for it. It seems she will have to exploit Arabella’s weakness. Which she does from this point on quite mercilessly. She’s a fiend, what can she say, besides which she really does want to win. It would be a waste not to.

However, Arabella has redoubled her efforts and Lyanna finds that even exploiting that left-side weakness is no guarantee of success. So she too pushes herself harder. The greatest issue presents herself after she jumps into a long range attack and lands rather awkwardly on her left foot. There is no twist, but a sudden sharp pain makes her knees buckle. It’s a strange sort of burning sensation that had Lyanna wincing.

Forcing herself to go on, though, Lyanna manages to lure her opponent into an attack and then another. Pressing her advantage, she counters both and wins another point. One more, she tells herself, and she’ll be able to rest her leg. The pain has grown dreadful. And Lyanna has had her skull fractured one time, a sprained ankle and more than just a few stubbed toes.

And she does win in the end, after much effort. And it is more luck than anything else. Her leg is killing her. Lyanna stubbornly insists to make it to the bench and Coach Umber before she discloses her injury.

”Why didn’t you say something?” Umber growls at her signalling that she be attended to.

“I didn’t think it would be that bad.” Her leg is trembling. Lyanna winces when she is forced to pull off her sock and the man who has come to see her injury lifts her leg. She can see Arabella from the corner of her eye, making her way to her.

“You okay, Stark?” Redding questions, her face betraying worry and concern.

“Fine. I’m sure it’s nothing.” But her statement is accompanied with another wince, ruining the effect. She doesn’t think it’s fine. In fact, the burn has only grown stronger. “Well?” she questions looking down an the man kneeling before her.

“Strained tendon” he says with a forbidding shake of his head. “You’ll have to call it quits or risk breaking it.” No. Damn it. This cannot be happening. Lyanna almost yells out in frustration. Out of all the things that could have happened to her. “I’m sorry.”

“Can’t you just bind it?” she asks, hopeful that perhaps something will buy her time.

“No, Stark,” her coach cuts in. “I’d rather have you miss out on one season than have you miss out on all.”

Her leg is then bound tightly and a wrapped in a second layer of cloth to keep it from further damage. She’s out. This is not dreadful. This is a disaster, a tragedy, a Valyrian farce. 

It is no one’s fault, to be sure. But as Lyanna stands on trembling legs, she cannot help but think she’s being punished for something. And she doesn’t know, can’t understand what. It takes her iron will and the knowledge that people are staring to keep her from bursting into tears. Arabella Redding touches her shoulder gently. “I’ll help you change,” she saying. “Lean on me.” 

Arabella is as good as her word, but to Lyanna’s relief, Cersei is already there, waiting, with a worried look on her face. Jaime is visibly more relaxed, but Lyanna is not fooled. They take her from Arabella with a few murmured words and Cersei hauls her into the room.

“What happened?” Cerrsei asks, sitting Lyanna on a stood and taking out her clothes.

“Strained tendon,” Lyanna replies.

“You idiot. You should have stopped the bloody match right then and there when it happened. You could have completely broken it.” She is not wrong. But Lyanna rarely takes losing well. “This is not worth it.”

“Well, this is all I have,” she snaps back, unapologetically. At Cersei’s hard stare she bursts into tears. “Damn it, Lannister."

The door opens to admit Jaime and Lyanna, who has just taken off her jacket and plastron and Cersei is untying her chest protector. “Oi, can’t you see I’m changing here?”

“Your dubious charms are lost on me, Stark,” the blond tells her, sweeping past his sister and sitting himself down on the bench facing hers. And, being Jaime, he proceeds to ignore the fact that she is not exactly decent. “How’s the leg?”

“Useless,” Lyanna answers, throwing him a glare when he lifts it up, depositing it in his lap. He spends a few moments palming it before Lyanna winces. “This is just awful.”

“At least you didn’t fall on your arse,” Cersei consoles her. “And you did win against Redding.”

“I wanted to win the competition.” She must sound like a petulant child whose favourite toy has been taken away. “Gods. This year must not be my year.”

“Easy, Stark.” Jaime catches the jeans Cersei throws towards him and looks away, for decency’s sake for the next few minutes. “I should take you back to the hotel. But I’ll be up soon too. Can you make do with Cersei?”

“No, no. Cersei has to stay. I can make my own way back.” Her pronouncement is met with twin glares. “I can.”

“Over my dead body, Lyanna.” And in this, Jaime is serious. It looks like an argument will break out between them until Cersei steps in, uncharacteristically, to calm things down.

“Jaime, please. The girl’s hurt. Don’t make it worse.” She then turns to Lyanna. “As for you, shut up and let us take care of you. Quit being so stubborn, you harpy.”

“But you came all the way to see Jaime,” Lyanna mutters, utterly forlorn.

“And I will. I’m not taking you back.” At that Lyanna raises her gaze to the blonde. Cersei nods her head. “Dayne kind of figured out there was trouble, so he asked Rhaegar to take you back, since he’ll be missing nothing.”

This is horrible. Utterly, entirely horrible. “Cersei, now is not the time to play matchmaker.”

“I’m not,” Cersei assures her. Lyanna almost believes it. She has no other chance, of course. “Rhaegar will take you back and that’s that. Jaime and I will be back as soon as we can.”

There is no getting out of it and Lyanna must admit defeat. She gives a sharp, unwilling nod and glowers at Jaime when he helps her up. She nearly bites his head off when he suggests carrying her, but her leg pains her so bad that she accepts.

“Never took you for the damsel in distress type,” Jaime quips as they approach an unfamiliar car. It’s a nice car, fiery red, strong engine. Very nice indeed. She isn’t sure why, and it’s a most ridiculous thought, she thinks the car would suit someone like Arthur Dayne rather than Rhaegar Targaryen.

“Hurts?” the man asks her once Jaime has dumped her unceremoniously in her seat. Lyanna takes care of the belt so she can gain a few more moments before having to answer. Gods, she can feel his eyes on her and she is usually quite insensible to this ort of things.

Initially she wants to give a haughty, hurtful comeback. But her leg does hurt and being rude will not make her feel better. “A great deal,” she ends up answering solemnly reclining against the seat of the car. Silence stretches out between them after that. Lyanna is not a chatterbox, at least not when others are talking. She prefers listening, but when silence reigns, she almost always gets this strange compulsion to fill it. 

“You’re not very talkative, are you?” She could just hit herself. Lyanna wonders, not for the first time, how other people deal with this sort of interaction. Because Cersei, in spite of being annoying, is not wrong. She does like him. And the last time she liked a guy, it all ended up a mess.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but he does answer. “I’m afraid I’ve never been good at small talk. I’m rather too blunt for that.”

“I’m sure you are,” she finds herself agreeing. “Not that it’s a bad thing,” Lyanna hurriedly adds. This will be the death of her. She won’t even have to worry about her problem anymore as she’ll expire in this gorgeous car next to the best looking man she’s ever had the misfortune of seeing. And since she is going to die, she might as well take advantage of her last moments alive. “How exactly do you know Arthur? Because Ashara never mentioned you.”

“Struck a friendship in high school even though we were one year apart and it kind of lasted well into adulthood given we move in the same circles.” They stop at the red light and he turns to give her a long look. “And you? How do you know the two terrors of Casterly Rock?”

Laughter bubbles on her lips at that. Cersei had at some point told her of the moniker, but to hear from a stranger is ten times funnier. “I met Jaime at the fencing club when I moved permanently to King’s Landing, and Cersei happened along the same summer. And we just ended up hanging around together. They’re a bad habit, I suppose.”

He gives her a smile then and Lyanna is torn between melting in her seat and smacking him over the head. No man should have such a devastating smile. Her heart is quite bad, she decides in that moment. She might go into cardiac arrest. That she smiles back at him is criminal in itself. This is the enemy.

When the ride is over, Lyanna tells herself she’s never been so grateful in her life. Not even when Robert came by and picked up his stuff, including those ugly figurines his mother sent. And that is a big deal. She remembers too late that he will probably follow Jaime’s example and when he does, Lyanna knows she had another moment to look forward to.

He opens the door on her side and crouches down in front of her, in the middle of the parking lot. “I would really like it if you didn’t ruin my clothing,” he says by way of explanation. “So, you’ll have to be the one deciding how this goes.”

It takes concentrated effort, three countings in her mind and the pain in her leg for Lyanna to finally reach out for him. He is quite tall – how dare he? – and strong. It’s impossible to miss with the way she ends up pressing herself against him. To keep from falling, of course. He picks her up gently, trying not to jostle her too much. With her uninjured leg Lyanna closes the door of the car and hides her face away in his shoulder – both as means of keeping from seeing anyone who might stare their way and because of his cologne which smells really nice and gives her something else to concentrate on rather than their closeness.

The feeling of being sick subsides, slowly, gently, leaving behind only embarrassment and a feeling of misplacement. On the bright side, she won’t be ruining his clothes, as he put it. Since no grief comes alone, Lyanna can only moan in distress upon discovering that Cersei is quite a devil and has neglected to hand Lyanna her bag, where her keys are. And she, like a fool, has been much too distracted to notice.

Rhaegar though doesn’t seem concerned by the news. “Yes, she told me she’ll give them to you when she and her brother return. Didn’t want you to be all alone.”

This is strange. The last time something similar happened, he all but accused her of trying to seduce him. Which she isn’t, no matter how good-looking he is. “My heart is all aflutter,” Lyanna quips. “Cersei is just too good of a friend.”

Rhaegar takes her to his room. Well, not truly his. But it’s still strange and disconcerting. Although, to be fair, he is nothing but courteous and solicitous. He isn’t even trying to flirt with her. Usually guys try. Flirting doesn’t make her sick.

And here she is, minutes later after telling herself she wouldn’t try getting closer to him, trying to get closer to him. This is ridiculous. It must be the pain. It’s making her act weird.

Of course, she somehow manages to fall asleep in the middle of it all and when she wakes up she’s in her own room, her own bed, covered to the chin. And she’s no closer to understanding why her heart behaves as it does when she thinks about Rhaegar. And if it were only that. But even her mind is whispering strange things like he is not all bad and this could be something different.

When she tries to move, pain erupts in her leg. Lyanna gives a swift curse and looks to her side. On the nightstand there is a glass of water and painkillers. Her stupid heart actually flutters. 

“This is bad. This is really bad.”


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

“I’ve already spoken to my sister, who has spoken to your brother, and he’s actually okay with it if you’re okay with it.” Lyanna blinks a few times at this, _at Dayne,_ and tries to find the words to say how utterly _insane_ it all sounds. Not that she thinks Brandon would not let her go home with her future good-brother, but he would definitely want to be along for the ride. Her brother trusts the males of their species about as much as he’d trust himself to kick a hornet’s nest and not end up in the hospital.

“If Brandon agreed.” She shrugs and forces herself to smile cheerily. “Although I feel a bit bad. Jaime would have been perfectly happy to take me home too. Wouldn’t want to impose, you know.” And she’ll have to be nice to Rhaegar at least for the next three times they see one another now. _Damn._

“Nonsense, we’re basically family already.” And he sits up then, with a smile on his face. “Catch you later?” She nods. Mainly because even a paraplegic toaster can catch up to her at this point.

And there is going to be Rhaegar; enough of him to keep her busy, much too busy for her liking. Why couldn’t she have developed some twisted form of a crush on Arthur? This is just her luck. She’ll find herself the most difficult men to interact with. If there is a guy with some sort of weird behaviour or whatever attached to him on a few miles radius, Lyanna is sure to find him. Normal men don’t hold her interest; wishy-washy attempts at courting tend to end in her with a bottle of wine and Cersei on speed-dial.

Once just has to _look_ at her dating history. There’s been Jaime; Jaime who is still half in love with his own sister and trying desperately to get over it without anyone’s help, not to mention that he smokes two packs a day if left on his own – that boy will destroy his lungs and she’s not sitting with him in hospital holding his hand. Then there was Robert. A charming buffoon with entirely too much time on his hands, an ego the size of a planet and some odd friendship with her brother. Lyanna is half sure he chose her because he thought she was a solvable challenge. And now she has Rhaegar to worry over. But maybe she shouldn’t worry in the first place. The guy was nice, sure, but she very much doubts he’s developed a tender for her. Although that would be nice. She would not have to drive herself mad predicting where they were going and could just tell him, quite honestly, that she just _couldn’t_.

“See you later.” Once he’s left she allows herself to slouch, picking up her glass of water. Going home with Arthur Dayne and Rhaegar Targaryen, well this is going to be an _adventure._ One she seemingly has to take up without the benefit of friendship’s net because Cersei has decided that _yes, Lyanna does need to get over whatever it is that’s holding her back, grow a spine about it_ and interact.  Or else, according to the soothsayer that is her friend, she’ll grow old and wrinkly and alone because _she doesn’t even like cats all that much. There’ll be not even the company of those mangy balls of fur for her._ Lyanna tried to explain that she’d be perfectly happy on her own. But all Cersei understood from that was that she needed a few nice dresses to give her confidence, at which point she promised they’d go shopping after returning home.  

At least her leg doesn’t feel like someone ran it over with a truck. Small mercies, she considers.

Not to be left along for long, Lyanna finds herself on the receiving end of yet another visit. Not so much a _visit_ though, as it’s Cersei who comes in, but it’s close enough. “Saw Dayne leaving, thought it a good time to drop by. And I brought you something.”

“If it’s another one of those magazines, I’ll throttle you,” she threatens unblinkingly, thinking with some horror upon the sort of dresses Cersei would like to see her wear. Do any of them even fit the description of dress or are they just fancy belts and strings sewn together?

“Whoa, calm down, crazy,” her friend says, waving one hand, the one in which she’d not holding anything. It’s too small to be one of those magazines anyway. Cersei plops herself on the couch and rests her feet on the coffee table. Lyanna almost laughs at the hearts-adorned socks. “I brought you this.” And she dumps a couple of cases on her lap with a graceful carelessness that still annoys the living daylights out of her.

“Stolen from Jaime’s porn collection?” she drawls without looking fir the hell of it. She shouldn’t be talking about Jaime’s porn collection anyway. Good as it is. Lyanna doubts he actually packed anything of it with him.

“Please,” Cersei grouses, “his porn collection is utter rubbish.”

“How would you know? Watched it, have you?” She laughed at the stupefied expression she receives in return. At certain times Cersei is so very easy to tease. She thinks she understands why, but won’t say a thing about it. She’ll just continue to have her fun. “So? Have you?”

“Good gods, Stark. My brother has no taste in this. It’s all fake stuff for him. I think though the more important question is, have you watched it?” How cute; she’s trying to mount an attack of her own. Lyanna could just coo.

Instead, she raises one eyebrow at that. “No, but he was my boyfriend, you know. I’ve been in his room. Besides, I have three brothers. There are only so many places a guy can hide his movies stack in and only so many made up movie names which never feature on any movie site. But Jaime was sneaky, rest assured.”

Cersei feigns relief. “Thanked be the Father; I thought he would be found out.” She looks at what she’s brought again. “Anyway, just choose one already. Or I will ask my brother if he brought something along.”     

What Lyanna suddenly gets is a vision of the three of them staring at the screen together, quipping at the grossly faked moans and trying not to laugh. _The idea is not half bad._ But it’s damned impractical. If someone walked in one them, well, Lyanna thinks she’ll not hear the end of it. So she settled for one of the flicks Cersei brought and is glad they’re both light movies. This way she does not have to struggle to understand very much.  So what they end up doing is sitting there and watching mind-numbing movies until the door is opened again, some hours later, by an annoyed looking Jaime. He glances at the two of them as he divests of his jacket.

“What the bloody hell is this?” he questions, stepping over to the couch. His eyes linger on the screen for a few moments. “This movie sucks. You should watch something else.”

“I don’t recall asking for your advice,” Cersei snaps, placing a protective hand on the remote when he leans forward. “Touch it and you’re dead.”

“You really need to calm down, sis,” Jaime tells her with a chuckle, pushing her hand away and grabbing the remote. “I only wanted to raise the volume.” And he does exactly that. Lyanna is impressed. He’s willing to sit through the movie with them. ”By the by, Stark, Dayne said he’s driving you home.” There’s a question somewhere in there and she does not want to answer. But she will anyway because he’d Jaime and _it’s really not like that._

“Well don’t be too jealous,” she managed, “apparently Brandon spoke to Ashara who spoke to him. My brother was caught up with something and can’t pick me up, so he passed me on to the most trustworthy person he could find.”

“Brandon?” Her friend seems to be experiencing some difficulties in coming to terms with that. “The same Brandon who said he’d smash my face in if I as much as looked the wrong way at you by way of greeting when you introduced me as you boyfriend.” She nods solemnly. “And he doesn’t think you’ll be, I don’t know, basically stripped of your purity?” He laughs.

“To be fair, he never really hit you. And he’s all talk besides.” She doesn’t think her oldest brother is necessarily the sanest of people, but he’s fun enough to be around. Which is all she’s ever asked for in any of her brothers really. “Just be glad we didn’t date long.” Robert got more than his fair share of warning, which might well have contributed to their sad ending.

“You two, I’m trying to watch this. If you want to fangirl over Brandon Stark, get out.” Cersei drums her fingertips on her kneecap insistently. There’s no arguing with that, Lyanna decides. She’s in one of her mood, likely as not ready to take their heads off if they step too far.

“She’s just mad she never saw your porn collection,” Lyanna offers. _If you can’t beat them, join them._ Jaime chokes, she suspects on his own saliva because he didn’t drink anything since getting here. She forgot to offer him anything. There goes hospitality. Mother would flay her arse. “Remember? The one you kept in the–“ She never manages to finish because Jaime has stretched out and his hand is covering her lips while simultaneously impeding Cersei’s view.

“For fuck’s sake,” she curses and pushes his hand away. “There’s no need to overreact. And you,” she turns to Lyanna with fire in her gaze, “should be the last one to tease him about it. She’s certainly not going to cower now. Lyanna smiles widely. “Porn is as close as you’ll ever get to doing it.” That stings. A tiny little bit. Mainly because it’s not entirely inaccurate. But Lyanna still keeps her smile.  

“Cers, come on, you said you’d encourage her,” Jaime hisses, as if she were not right here.

“I am,” his sister protests. “And if she listens to me, she’ll do great.” Then she turns to Lyanna once more. “You do want to join the rest of normal people, right?”

“Right,” Lyanna said. “Glad you thought to ask me what I wanted, Cers.”

At that her friend snorts and gives her a light shove. “I know you know what you want. But you’re just too damn stubborn to get up off your arse and try reaching for it. Aren’t I right, Jaime?”

“Do you want me to be honest?” Lyanna shoots him a withering look. “Fine. Get up your arse and seek some counselling or whatever.”

“Only if you’ll do it with me,” she answers in a sing-song voice. “I’m not the only one with baggage here.” Normally she wouldn’t bring it up, but these two are driving her nuts and, well, all’s fair in love and war. “So, here is what I propose; we get back home, get some rest and then get some help. In that order.”

“When you say together,” Jaime pipes up, “do you mean together-together, or,” he trails off, waving his hand as if a wealth of meaning is hidden behind the gesture. _He really does need a dictionary._

“What do you mean?” Contrary to what he may think of the female powers, women cannot read minds. Apparently not even their own if she were to judge it by her personal situation. “We don’t have to be in the same room or anything. Guys, I love you both, but some things, I don’t necessarily need to know.”

“If you ever do want to know though,” Cersei  butts in, apparently completely restored, “we could always get together.”

Lyanna shakes her head at that, trying not to laugh. “After I’m all better.”

“Yes, after you’re all better.” And then they do laugh. This is not their craziest idea yet.  

 

 

 


End file.
